Mr Huffington And The Dastardly Drawing Despoiler
by WhiteLadyDragon
Summary: An evil, conniving coworker named Weasel won't stop stealing Chumley's artwork! How will he and Des Koala defend the sanctity of their sketches? Short, and stupid, and rated Teen for a tint of crude humor. You are not completely forgotten, Chumster!


**_Disclaimer:_ I deny any and all possession of the characters featured. I just rent them.

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**What do you suppose happened to ol' Chumley after he left to work for Pegasus? Thought maybe I could write about my guess on it. Also, this deals with a crime which I'm sure many of you artists out there are familiar with: art theft.**

**Yes, I know the title sounds retarded. I did that on purpose. Also, I apologize if there were any miscalculations on the functioning of Industrial Illusions. **

**And the antagonist in the story, "Weasel"? Don't think he's a Gary-Stu; what do you think?**

**Think I'm gonna keep this as a one-shot, though. Too many chapter stories, right now...**

**One more thing: I go by the dub. Please don't shoot me for that. It's not like I'm gonna kill the guy or anything. I think art theft is torture enough for him. **

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_**"MR. HUFFINGTON AND THE DASTARDLY DRAWING DESPOILER"**_

Chumley Huffington had a problem. It was no mundane, everyday problem, like what he should have for lunch, or where to get new batteries when the ones in his pencil sharpener should die. This problem was _large, _larger than his own girth, in fact.

And it was called, "his neighbor in the cubicle behind him was a dastardly weasel who despoiled the other artists' drawings". The employees of Industrial Illusions were so fed up with him, they called him by the nickname "Weasel". Not only did he steal artwork, he'd always find a way to get away with it. All he'd do was literally make off with sketches, whether they lay on desks, or tucked in drawers, or stored in computer files. He'd erase the signatures, to replace them with his own. Then he would present the drawings to the boss, Maximillion Pegasus. Every time, he'd get a raise for all the lovely drawings he presented...none of which were ever his own.

Thus far, no one could do anything about it. Or more rather, wouldn't.

How was this Chumley's problem? Because Weasel only prayed on the best artists, and he had the misfortune to be one. He discovered this one day, as he was returning from the bathroom. He was just dabbing on the finishing touches of his latest monster sketch, one that he titled "King Kookaburra".

But when he sat down at his desk..._it was gone! _

"Huh? Where'd King Kookaburra go? I could've sworn I left it here." He began pacing about his cubicle, bending over to peek under the table and in the trash bin (it was quite painful to do so). Before long, Chumley found himself on his tubby rear-end.

_"OOF!" _

That was when the suave, chipper voice of his boss boomed across the office: "Attention, ladies and gentlemen? Attention! Do I have fabulous news for you all!"

All fifty-two heads peeped out from their cubicles, all of them wearing disgruntled frowns. They knew too well what Mr. Pegasus was about to announce...everyone but Chumley, that is.

"Can somebody help me? I'm kinda stuck-"

Pegasus held up the portrait of the humanoid Australian bird for all eyes to behold. "Look at this sketch, everyone! Fresh from the brilliant mind of Mr. Willis, we have the adorable King Kookaburra, a feathered friend with much potential!" A groan emanated from the onlookers.

Beside Pegasus stood a young man of medium stature, with short, slicked hair, the color of a black olive. "Why, Mr. Pegasus! I am flattered! But really, it's not that great! Just a little something I concieved by the lovely birds on the island...and encouraged by my friends and fellow artists." His beady eyes, the color and size of acorns, seemed to glimmer, but not with a true sense of accomplishment, unless you could count as stealing art as an accomplishment.

Chumley, in the meantime, managed to push himself back to his feet. What was with all the ruckus? And did Pegasus just mention something about King Kookaburra? When he looked out, it suddenly felt as though his stomach, along with all the contents in it from lunch, dropped to the floor.

_That was HIS King Kookaburra up there! _Why was this strange man taking credit for something _he _had drawn??

"Uh, Mr. Pegasus?"

"Yes, Huffington?"

"That's _my _sketch! I wasn't even done with it yet! Why're the kudos going to...that guy?"

But the reply he recieved was a mere chuckle. "Oh, Huffington, you card! The signature at the bottom states that this is Mr. Willis's." Beg his pardon?!

"Yeah, so how's about stuffing your pie-hole with more grilled cheese, koala boy?" snapped Weasel. "You're just jealous 'cause I thought of this before you did!"

"B-but I swear! I-"

"Now, now, name-calling is not nessessary, Willis. Why not come with me? We shall discuss fattening your pay tenfold?"

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For as long as he cared to remember, Chumley had never felt so obliterated by abrupt betrayal. Compared to now, he could easily forgive the time when his roommate Jaden wolfed down that last grilled cheese sandwich on Grilled Cheese Night. At least Jaden had been remorseful. 

_I would've never applied for a job here if I'd known this was just a giant nest for art weasels, _he'd think to himself now and then. Still, he could not possibly let go of his job; he had finally moved up in the world: from being a lowly flunkie in school, to an artistic prodigy designing dueling cards. He tried to let it go; after all, that was only one time, and bearing grudges took too much energy. But alas! Weasel kept preying on him from that day on, snatching his sketches whenever he had his head turned or when he just blinked!

And every time he complained, Pegasus would not believe him. So it appeared.

There just had to be a way to rid himself of this vermin.

First, he simply tried putting up books around his work area, to conceal his sketching. It did not leave much elbow room, and at times, if he was not careful, he'd topple his "wall" and have an avalanche of notebooks over his noodle. But, there are prices to pay for self-obtained security.

Despite the trouble, his efforts turned out to be fruitless. Weasel came creeping into his cubicle, like a leopard stalking an antelope. He reached over the wall of books and tapped on Chumley's broad shoulder. "_Heeee-loooo_, koala boy! What'cha doin'?" he asked with a most unpleasant smirk.

Shivers danced up and down his spine at just the mere touch of that dastardly finger. "Go away, Weasel. I built this wall for a reason, and you oughta know why. So, go rip off of somebody else."

"Listen, Huffington, about that other day...I was jealous. You draw so well for your tender age, and I can't draw worth diddly-squat."

Chumley narrowed his eyes into slits. Now what this scoundrel up to?

"You took my sketch off my desk and wrote your name on it. Then you had Mr. Pegasus pay you for it." How was he to trust a guy that pulled that on him?

"Well, maybe I could make amends for it...over a nice platter of grilled cheese sandwiches?"

It wasn't that our hero was stupid; grilled cheese was his kryptonite. Just hearing the words "grilled" and "cheese" put together in a sentence had his stomach whining and his lips smacking. It caught him completely off-guard.

"Gr-gr-grilled cheese? Well, I _guess _I could use some brain food. But I'm taking my sketch with me! I know better than to leave my art unattended."

By his right, his Duel Spirit, Des Koala appeared, shaking his paws frantically. He was trying to say, _Chumley, wait! It's a trap!_

It was too late: Chumley had laid the books to his wall aside and was tagging behind Weasel, his drawing in one hand. Des Koala tried lumbering after him, emitting a warning growl until the boys reached the break room. Weasel stepped to the side and allowed him to enter first.

"Right this way, friend."

Chumley peeked in cautiously. "Okay, so where are the sandwiches?" He failed to notice that devilish hand reaching out to the sheet of paper.

_Behind you!_

_WHOOSSSHH! _

"Yee-haw!"

This all happened so fast, it left poor Chum's head spinning! "What the-? Hey, get back here, you! That's so not licious!"

Des Koala tried to catch the thief in his burly, furry arms...which only resulted in Weasel's passing right through him, like he was just a ghost. Which, technically, he was. And when Chumley tried to give chase...well, let's just say that he never had the stamina needed for running.

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Later that week, just after the idea on locking his art in a drawer had been flushed down the pooper (Weasel carried bobby pins), he started to get desperate. Why, he even resorted to scanning his art into the computer, and shredding them afterwards. For extra measures, he put a password on it. 

"There. No way he's gonna get them now, Des Koala!"

_I don't know about this, Chumley. Knowing you so well, I don't think it'll take too long to decipher this password._

"Oh, hush! I've got it all figured out, so we may design in peace! But right now, it's my favorite time of the day: lunch!" With that, he dusted his hands smugly and exited his cubicle. Des Koala, on the other hand, stayed behind, fearing the worst.

Indeed, the worst happened. That dastardly drawing despoiler came slinking in there, sneering. He found no helpless sketch on the desk, nor in the drawer. Peeking into the trash bin, he discovered the neatly shredded remains of them, and clenched his fists in fury.

"Dang it! That Huffington kid's getting smarter, isn't he? Wait...I wonder..." He slithered his way to the computer and pressed the power button.

_Oh, no! _Hastily, Koala looked around, and his large eyes landed on the outlet. He crawled under the table and pulled the plug...which leaves you to wonder how a Spirit can't catch a human, but can pull plugs with ease.

"What the heck? C'mon, you dumb thing! Turn on! Oh, hold it..." He peeked underneath. "How'd that get unplugged? Augh, I'll just plug it back in." And he did. Koala yanked it back out. Weasel plugged it back in, Koala yanked it back out. These shenanigans cycled for fifteen minutes or so, until the very frustrated thief snarled, "Screw this!" He just took the whole system, monitor and mouse and all, and made a dash for it. Of course, the Spirit followed closely behind.

It was too bad, however, that Des Koala was as slow as molasses on a Christmas morning. _Uggghh...come on, pick up the pace! What are you, Des Sloth? Still, if he doesn't know the password, there shouldn't be a problem..._

He didn't even get halfway to the computer room, and it was already too late. Apparently, Chumley had put a hint on the computer, should be ever forget the password himself. The hint was "What monster is the master of beasts? What does he like to eat?" The magic word? "_MasterofOzEatsGrilledCheese!_" He was never that clever when it came to creating passwords.

By the time Des Koala was almost there, Weasel went prancing out of the room with the computer in his arms...and the prints tucked in his back pockets.

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_I'm so sorry, Chumley! I tried to stop him! Really, I did! _

"For Pete's sake! Can nothing stop this guy?" Chumley cried, his face in his hands. It had all come down to this: every day for the rest of his life, he'd always have a stinking crimimal breathing down the nape of his thick neck, preparing to rob him of the work he poured sweat, blood and tears into, like the hyena robs a lion of the meal he painstakingly hunted for. And his newest drawing was so special to him, too: a field of skyscrapers he saw in a dream. It reminded him so much of Jaden, so he had named it "Hero City".

He'd surely die if Weasel stole this one! What did he have to do? Give up grilled cheese? Quit his job? Get that thief in trouble? No, the latter was so impossible, it wasn't-

_Wait a sec..._

Chumley slowly lifted his face out of his hands. Something was going on in his head...it felt like a light bulb was clicking on.

A tiny smirk began to crawl across his face.

"Okay, then...if he wants to steal good artwork so bad, then let's give him the most unforgettable drawing, ever!"

_What do you mean?_

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Later that afternoon, our hero slammed down his colored pencils. He got up, pushed in his chair, and walked out with Des Koala lumbering after.

"Oh, gee! Another licious drawing is finally done! I sure hope nobody's gonna sneak into my cubicle and _steal _it!" He and Koala ducked behind a corner.

_Success! _No sooner had he said that, did Weasel come tiptoeing in there, nibbling on the bait. In the blink of an eye, he scurried out of there like the bug that he was, already replacing the signature with his own.

_Wait for it...wait for it..._

"Good heavens, Mr. Willis! What did I ever do to you?! 'Fag-asus the Unfabulous'? How dare you!"

"B-b-but Mr. Pegasus, I-I didn't intend it to look like you, I-"

_Pop goes the Weasel! _Looked like Chumley could use his boss's vanity to his favor, after all.

"No, no, I will hear no more from you, Willis! And I thought we had something special!" What ensued afterwards was what sounded like the swishing of a trap door and a frantic scream, steadily dying into the atmosphere.

Chumley rushed out of the office to check what the matter was. What he found was Pegasus, tossing his long, white hair and snorting a soft "hmph" at the giant square-shaped hole in the floor. Oh dear...Chumley gulped, making a personal note to never rattle his chain, under any circumstances. He just wanted Weasel to leave him be, not have him plummeting to what looked like his death!

"Mr. Huffington? Oh, I didn't see you!" His frown immediately changed into a jolly and somewhat creepy smile. "Can I help you?"

At first, he just stood there, unsure what to say. On the floor, he saw his sketch: a fruity caricature of the boss in a sparkly ball dress of baby blue, with make-up and ribbons and everything. His lips were puckered in a kissy, fish-like manner.

He was about to say something, when Pegasus cut him off. "It's all right, Huffington. I know what you are thinking, and no, that is not because I still have my Eye. You had quite the nerve to cook up such a slandering cartoon of yours truly, and pin the blame on Mr. Willis..."

"You-you knew that it was my drawing?"

"Yes. In fact, all the sketches he ever presented to me were yours. I may be going through my mid-life crisis, but I'm not stupid. He's been the biggest art thief around here for years...and someone has finally done something about him. So, guess what, young man?"

"Uh...you're gonna have me fall through a trap hole, too?"

_"Eeerrr! _Wrong! You wouldn't fit, anyhow." Suddenly, out from the ceiling hovered neon balloons and colorful confetti. Somewhere in the background, trumpet music was playing.

"Congratulations, Mr. Huffington! You passed my test! And as a reward, I'll pay you as much as I promised to pay Willis, plus crown with the title of Vice President and Second Chief Artist, second only to _moi_!"

Well, this was a pleasant twist, if not a tad abrupt. Chumley was now seeing purple and green spots. Now he was just plain confused: if Pegasus knew all about what Weasel was doing, why did he wait 'til now to get rid of him?

"Oh yes, before you ask...what lesson would an artist learn if he always depends on someone else to defend his artwork? But don't worry, I'll still give credit where, and to whom, it's due."

Do you know what poor Chumley did then?

He fainted. I suppose either the trumpet music, or the realization of all this being a test, was a tad too much for him. Hastily, Des Koala grabbed the drawing and tried to fan his human partner.

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Out there between a rock and a hard place, Weasel floundered like a dying troat, gasping for air. How could he had been foiled, after all this time? And by that stupid koala boy, at that?

He was wallowing so much in anger, and salt water, that he failed to notice a small yacht cruising towards him. A hooded stranger stood at the bow, and commanded the driver to stop.

"Oy, you, out there! It's a little dangerous to be swimming in these waters, don't ya think? Come up here, lad!" He tossed him a life saver, which the thief eagerly clung onto...

**_END(?)

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Yeah, I know what you're thinking: Most. Retarded. Fic. Ever. Well, I only saw three fictions about Chumley on this whole site, and I felt kinda bad for him. He gets even less attention than Bastion! But as long as I didn't make him look TOO stupid, you can't shoot me, right?_**


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